It appears that a Madame de la Ribossière has deceased lately in Paris, leaving a very large fortune—to the city of Paris—much to the ire, not only of her family, but of sundry friends, literary and others, who had contributed very greatly to her amusement.
A French writer comments on the matter in a strain which, considering our duties as Editor, we shall not think it worth while to gainsay.
Madame de la Ribossière was a lady of refined tastes, who derived a large part of her enjoyment of life from the accomplishments of artistic and literary gentlemen; how then, does it happen that she should not have given proof of the pleasure she had received by a few princely legacies?
In the good old times (may they come again!) authors had different treatment. Thus Pliny, the younger, in writing to Tacitus, says, “I have received the past year some twenty-five thousand ses terces more than yourself—in the way of legacies—but don't be jealous!”
The truth is, that a rich man rarely died in Rome, without leaving some token to the author who had beguiled the hours of solitude—enlarged his ideas, or consoled him in affliction. Cicero speaks of a large inheritance, which he possessed, of statues and beautiful objects. In short, Roman literature and the history of antiquity grew out of those princely endowments, which independence and strength of opinion did not fail to secure.
But nowadays, says the French author, a writer is paid like a starveling; and picks up such crumbs of charity as fall only from the tables of the publishers. [pg 565] And he goes on pleasantly, to suggest a change in this matter; which, if it gain footing on the other side of the water, we shall take the liberty of welcoming very kindly in America. When the custom of leaving legacies to writers is in vogue, we shall take the liberty of suggesting, in our own behalf, such objects of art as would be agreeable to us; and such stocks as we should prefer as a permanent investment.
Meantime, we suck our quill in our Easy Chair, with as much forbearance as we can readily command.
Editor's Drawer.
That was a dignified and graceful entertainment which recently took place in the gay capital of France. Some two hundred of the “nobility and gentry,” including a sprinkling of English aristocracy, assembled in a prominent hall of the city, to see a Rat and Owl Fight! And while they were getting ready the combatants, which went by sundry fancy or favorite names, they had a poet in leash, who “improvised a strophe” for the occasion! Think of a “poet” apostrophizing, in studied measures, twelve rats and four old owls! But that's “the way they do things in France.”